been used instead of--" but saw
he was paying no attention to me, so I headed for the Main Room to get
another card. I had no sooner reached the entrance when I was confronted
by the little bearded man again. His mouth was agape with distress, his
loud-checked bowtie askew. He waved the book in my face. "Didn't you
find anything in here?" he demanded.

"Not really," I said. "I have no interest in French cooking."

He shook his head vigorously. "I mean _inside_ the book!"

"Quiet, please," said the guard at the entrance, holding his finger to
his lips disapprovingly. I continued into the Main Room, the little man
scurrying alongside me.

"Please," he pleaded, "think. Wasn't there _something_ in the book?"

Irked at his persistence, I was about to move on, when I remembered.
"Why, yes," I said, slowly. "There _was_ something. This." I fished the
bit of green paper from my pocket. He snatched it from me, uttered a
squeak of delight, and hurried away.

* * * * *

Relieved that this untidy business was finally done with, I decided to
forego Publilius Syrus for the day, since I was no longer in the mood
and I had some important papers to edit. So I returned to my home, a
rather large and comfortable room on the first floor of a converted
brownstone in lower Manhattan. I had no sooner settled down at my desk
when there came an urgent knock on my door. I slipped on my glasses and
opened the door. Imagine my amazement and irritation when the little man
from the library scuttled into the room. He hurried to the window and
pulled down the blind. Then he firmly removed my hand from the doorknob,
closed the door and locked it. He leaned against the door, facing me.

"There _is_ no 432 West 28th Street," he announced, angrily.

"The information does not impress me," I said. "How did you find out
where I live? And why?"

"I asked several of the librarians if they knew you. It seems they did.
And since you are listed in the telephone book, the rest was simple." He
held up the green slip of paper. "Was this ALL you found?"

Well, I thought, childishly pleased, at least I am not one of the
innumerable nameless faces that pour in and out of the library daily.
"What else was there supposed to be?" I asked pleasantly.

The little man sank into my favorite leather chair, almost disappearing
from view. He waved the slip of paper aimlessly. "There must be more to
it than this."

Despite his rudenes